ExposedNYC

After a pseudo-break up with Boy Toy over the holidays, I reverted to old habits of singledom- namely scrolling through my cell phone for former flames that somehow fizzled. And I partially blame the NY Giants for my regression.

A few weeks prior, while Cali was in town visiting, I’d met a cute guy out at a bar. His friends and mine flirted well through last call which led to a group outing for greasy diner pizza. While sitting across from me, his potential soared off the charts when he actually reached under the table, picked up my high-heeled feet, placed them in his lap, and initiated the most discreetly exhilarating foot massage. We exchanged phone numbers and talked about visiting an upcoming exhibit at the Museum of Natural History, or at least getting together for a drink again soon.

The next day, while dissecting our photo-journalism evidence of the previous evening, the girls and I were struck by the fact that my new crush bore a striking resemblance to the Manning brothers, quarterback build, broad nose and all. So, when we ended up at a sports bar a couple days later, I felt compelled to text him and invite the guys to join us. His response lacked enthusiasm- he and his roommate were recovering on the couch from a previous day of debauchery- so our communication slowly dwindled and I gave up hopes of claiming this trophy of a man by Super Bowl Sunday.

This was until I was struck by an overwhelming sense of optimism over a pitcher of beer with Cali and Jodie while watching the historic Patriots-Giants game, and decided I now had the perfect excuse to re-initiate casual communication.

“So, how often do you hear that you look JUST like Eli Manning?” I texted, laboring over crafting a message that maintained a casual tone, threw in that I was a football fan, and reassured myself that a lack of response only confirmed that it was a completely rhetorical question. I mean, who knew if he even still had my number saved in his phone.

Five minutes later, my phone began to ring. I glanced down, shocked to see “Manning” on my caller ID screen. I had expected nothing more than some possible flirtatious banter and here he was actually calling? Frozen with indecision I held the phone up to Cali and Jodie and asked what to do, which of course meant that in my hesitation I missed the call completely. Even I knew that holding out hope for a voice mail was as unlikely as keeping Tom Brady from his perfect season.

The girls pounced on me, wondering what could have possibly been running through my mind to stop me from picking up the phone and holding a conversation like a normal person. Part of me was afraid that he was calling to ask who sent the message, and my ego was still too fragile to take a hit like that. Simultaneously, I had imagined him asking if I was watching the game somewhere nearby and, being thousands of miles away, I’d decided that no answer was better than a negative answer.

Of course, this all made perfect sense in the millisecond that my heart had been vibrating right along with the phone, but echoed of complete crap upon review. I would definitely be penalized for missing this opportunity if I didn’t act fast. With some coaching from my friends, I sent a reply stating that I was out of town, in a bar, hadn’t heard the call, and would love to meet up for a playoff game sometime after I got back, making sure to end with a question mark that left the ball in his hands.

A day later, I got the response I’d been hoping for. “We should definitely catch up over a game soon. Have a great New Year!” I may not always know the best play to call, but Manning had just assured me that I was still in the game.

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